Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Barbados and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Erasure to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Sandy B. All the underground hits.
All Bill Near tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sunsets and Hearts record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Excepter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fugs,
The Remains,
Spandau Ballet,
June of 44,
The Electric Prunes,
K-Klass,
The Saints,
Main Source,
Tears for Fears,
Roger Hodgson,
Sixth Finger,
The J.B.'s,
The Evens,
Brothers Johnson,
Stiv Bators,
The Star Department,
Amon Düül II,
Dawn Penn,
Harpers Bizarre,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Unrelated Segments,
Ronnie Foster,
Joey Negro,
Moss Icon,
Bluetip,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Knickerbockers,
Rakim,
the Fania All-Stars,
Avey Tare,
The Trojans,
Make Up,
Cheater Slicks,
Peter & Gordon,
Zapp,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Barbara Tucker,
Prince Buster,
Todd Terry,
Harry Pussy,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Alarm Clocks,
Pet Shop Boys,
China Crisis,
Sister Nancy,
Gang of Four,
DNA,
Roxy Music,
Barrington Levy,
Whodini,
Moby Grape,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sam Rivers,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lalann,
10cc,
Pantaleimon,
Robert Görl,
Rosa Yemen,
Marcia Griffiths,
Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.